#it JUSSSST CLICKED

[archiveoftara]

Sober

In the midst of the cold night, You swung an arm on your shoulder while Lucy took the other one. George was at the back, paying the bartender.

"I can hold my liquor jusssst fine, '' a drunk Lockwood yelled.

"Sorry about that." You apologise to the people in the pub.

An hour ago, you received a call from a certain Fittes agent. It was Quill Kipps, your friend from Fittes and Lockwood's enemy (his words, not yours).

"I feel weird-" before Lockwood could finish his sentence, he threw up.

"That's my new shoes, Jesus Lockwood"

............................................................................

So, here you are, holding a very drunk and heavy Lockwood, outside the pub. You huffed while waiting for Lucy who went to fetch a cab and also to avoid babysitting drunk Lockwood.

"What were you guys even up to?" You looked at the blonde guy.

"Just a friendly game." He avoids your eyes.

"It was a bet Kipps. You told me I can't handle my liquor and I said bring it on. In your face sucker. I am super fine." Lockwood yells. You gave a look to both the lads.

But you were glad that he was under Kipps watch. He was safe. That's all that matters to you.

"Okay. I did say that but I was joking I didn't know he was gonna take it seriously."

"Kipps you know how competitive he gets." You sighed. "But thank you for taking care of him. I owe you mate."

Kipps shrugged and gave you a hug before making his way home.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful your eyes are?" His voice trailed.

Your breath hitched. To your relief Lucy comes up with the cab, just in time. The whole party went home.

Lockwood chatted the whole ride. It took every ounce of your strength to not punch him in the face. You thank the lord when the cab reaches home.

You and George helped him to his room where George practically threw him on the bed. George excused himself which leaves you and Lockwood alone.

You slowly start to take off his shoes and pull the blanket to tuck him in when he holds your hand.

"I like the way your hands fit in mine." He pulls you in his arms. "And you're so prettyyyy and your cheeks are so soft" he whines while squishing your face.

"Lockwood, you're really drunk. Go to bed." You blush.

"Nooo, y/n promise me you won't hate me." He raised his pinky finger.

"Okay I promise." You pinky promised him like a kid.

"The day you stepped into this house I knew I had to keep my distance from you."

You frowned.

"Listen carefully, you. Ms. Y/n y/l/n broke every single wall I made, brick by brick you broke it. I am not capable of love. All the people I've loved have left me. I didn't want to go through the same pain again. I built a wall to protect my heart but you shined through it. You told me once, it's a small life we should not waste it. So I'm taking your advice."

He clear his throat

"Y/n y/l/n, I am in love with you. I am deeply, madly in love with you." His face was red.

You froze for a moment, you were in love with him for a long time but you were too shy to ask him out but instead of being happy, you felt a rage inside you.

"Real sweet but I wish you were sober. Sleep, you need rest." With that you left his room.

That night you couldn't sleep. His words were ringing in your head. It felt like a stab in your heart. His drunk confession didn't hold any meaning to you.

..............................................................................

Next morning, the agent woke up with a hangover. He found some medicine with a note beside his bed.

Drink up. - y/n

A soft smile spread across his face as he ascends to the kitchen but to his disappointment it was empty. In fact, the whole house was empty.

Where did everyone go?

The click of the door brought his attention, he saw the girl of his dream standing in front of the kitchen

"Oh you're awake." You said in a dry tone.

Lockwood's smile falters a bit but he doesn't get it into his head.

"Thanks for the medicine." He whispered.

"Have this. You must be hungry." You gently gave him some breakfast before making your way out of the kitchen when you heard him call your name.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes." You avoid his eyes.

"Did I..do something wrong?"

You replied with a no, still refusing to look at him. "I have to go, I'll see you later" you hastily left, leaving a confused Lockwood.

It was at the evening, when Lockwood couldn't take the silent treatment anymore and barged into your room (his words, not mine), he knocked at your door, softly and patiently waited for you.

"Come in" a soft voice answered.

He saw you scribbling on your journal. When his eyes met yours you quickly shut your journal and straighten up.

"Hi" you replied in high pitched voice.

"I wanted to ask you something." He built up his courage before spilling all his feelings.

"Are you alright? Because I got a glimpse of last night and all I remember is I puked on your new shoes. I'm so sorry y/n, I will make it up to you I promise-"

"Lockwood, I'm afraid you did lot more than puking on my shoes." His eyes widened and he thinks hard about the events that took place last night.

After a moment of silence you sigh "Last night you said something which I didn't expect. You said you love me and you tried to keep your distance from me. I'm sorry for breaking your walls."

"I wish you were honest. Your drunk confession felt like a joke to my feelings."

Lockwood carefully takes your hand "It wasn't a joke y/n. I genuinely love you. I planned to tell you in a much more civil and nicer way but.. anyways, the point is I love you y/n y/l/n, and it would be an honour to be loved by you."

You broke into a light chuckle before saying yes. He lightly caresses your cheeks, asking for your consent (CUZ CONSENT IS SEXY BABY) before leaning for a kiss. With feather light touch and tender kisses, you both got lost into each other's company.

"FINALLY"

A voice came behind you, startling you both in the process. George and Lucy came out of nowhere.

"Were you guys listening to us the whole time?" Lockwood raised his eyebrows.

"You guys finally did it. George owes me 20 pounds." Lucy ignores the question, while George hands her a fresh note.

"I can't believe this." You pointed at your friends who made a bet on you guys.

"And I still can't believe you're my girlfriend." You blushed at him.

"Thanks for puking on my leg Lockwood, it was romantic." You made fun of the situation.

"Oh god."

But it was safe to say you both were secretly glad of him getting drunk.

*Bonus*

You: no more drinking games for you.

Lockwood: yes ma'am. 🫡

Hello, I'm back from the pits of hell. What did I miss? I had this story sitting on my Google doc for a long time and I thought to finish it and post it before I look at it for too long and burn it. Hopefully you like it!! Do let me know in the comments. Xoxo

[hey-august]

hi hello, for the ask game you jusssst posted 🍓⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?  🐇do you prefer writing original characters, reader inserts, or a mix of both?  🎲 ⇢ what stops you from writing more in your free time?  🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings 🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately? I figured these were some fun ones to start out with! <3 -rorywritesjunk

Hi hi, these are good ones!!

🍓⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

I wrote about it here! To summarize, I had lots of ideas and thought that if I liked these ideas, maybe other people will too!

🐇do you prefer writing original characters, reader inserts, or a mix of both?

I love reader inserts so much! It's fun to be in the story and do things that I/reader wouldn't normally do. Or do things that are totally normal and it still fits. TBH, I don't think I've ever actually created an OC. I admire those who do, because of the amount of imagination and care that goes into it. It's beautiful and magical to me. 🤩

🎲 ⇢ what stops you from writing more in your free time? 

(Gonna save this one for an ask that came in immediately after yours!)

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

Buggy steals Mihawk and Croc's underwear. They know and they let Buggy have his sneaky fun. I've had this scrap of a thought sitting in a doc for too long and it deserves to see the light.

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

On here, I might click away from really long fics that don't have a word count, but that's so I can read them later. My attention span is shit and it helps me to plan ahead. Very hard to read formatting is another one. Specifically when dialogue is buried within paragraphs, because then I struggle to follow the flow of conversation and lose the immersion.

This ask game + my ask game responses

[bionicdoorvah09]

Oooooo~ the suspension is killing me....

-the game master

*doorvah pulls the trigger twice on himself, both clicking* well did you forget to load this?

*his head jerks and a different voice speaks* letssss jusssst kill the girl...

*he holds the gun up and pulls the trigger and its blank, only one round left, and it had to be live, another jerk, and a new voice* well....this just got interesting.

[yahchilles]

GUCCI SAINT DAWN AS IN ADDAX DAWN????? BYE KM STUPID

[guqin-and-flute]

I have just now realized that along with WWX, NHS, and LJY, I headcanon JGY as also having ADHD, more of the hyperactive type than inattentive. I think that’s part of what makes him move at such a breakneck pace without fully just stopping and doing some introspection. I think it’s part of what makes him so good at problem solving--having a highly associative brain that can make split second connections is good at being maneuverable. But we also see him having trouble with big goal changes, bullheadedly sticking to The Plan, even if it’s not necessarily what needs to happen anymore. (Really, JGY? Your Father will love you if you kill this one more person? You’ll finally get that stability you crave? Really, if you just keep filling Guanyin Temple up with hostages, your escape to Japan will still work? Maybe it’s time to cut your losses, bud.)

The Emotional Dysregulation (’Son of a Whore’ button, anyone?) and Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria--that paired with trauma and a, uh, flexible view on personal morality makes his reaction to all the ridicule he receives for his birth station, shall we say, intense. (Also translating: ‘How could you do that? I’m upset!’ = ‘I actively want you to die and hate you with every fiber of my being’). Probably learned very early that something was Different™ about him and learned to watch how other people did things and mirror. I could very easily see him as the type of child who sits and watches other people and actively learns The Rules that everyone else seems to know and so, now, can wield them deftly and very purposefully in social situations to his advantage.  (All his skills at handling people more powerful than him could have very easily been learned at the brothel; making yourself seem nonthreatening and even helpless, people are inherently selfish, don’t go headfirst against people stronger than you because you’ll lose, show people what they want to see, make yourself valuable, s m i l e :) ).

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Just a super friendly casual chat

Okay, I've left y'all in suspense long enough wondering wtf happened between Alastor and Sir Pentious that got him shot.

Alastor teleports onto Sir Pentious’s @sssardonian-ssserpent airship to go “wtf do you have against musical theater?? I’ve never even done anything to you.”

Arguments happen. A gun gets fired. I think they’ll be friends!!

Alastor

The theater roof's been blown off.

Sir Pentious probably expects Alastor to instantly retaliate somehow. Magic, minions, giant interdimensional tentacles, something of the sort.

Instead, Alastor simply steps out of the shadows behind Sir Pentious and onto the airship's bridge, startling a couple of nearby eggs in the process. Dryly, he asks, "What in the world do you have against musical theater?"

Sir Pentious

There was a moment where Pentious himself seems to startle, his hood notably pricking up from where it already stood spread outwards, as far as the tips of his hair could reach. There was the sound of screaming below, of screeching cars as pedestrians swerved to avoid any crumbling debris and panicking theatre staff racing out into the streets to try and escape the building that was cracking and crumbling and looked like it was second away from falling. For a moment, Pentious didn’t move from his place, the wind idly causing the brim of his hat to wave in the breeze, the sleeves of his coat, the tips of his hood.

Then Pentious moves to spin around, and suddenly a shotgun is pointed all but inches away from Alastor’s face, the sound of the chamber being pumped ringing through the air with a solid ‘*click-clack*.’ It looked to be designed by Pentious’s own hand, judging by how the sleek looking barrel had a notable scale-like pattern etched into it, and a few pink eyes dotted it’s surface along the stock and receiver. Pentious flashes a grin, wicked and vicious, holding the gun in a steady grip, a practiced grip, and his eyes narrow ever so slightly. “Nothing in particular. I jusssst happened to realize that it was the best way of getting under your sssskin, since you’ve made it so clear you couldn’t give a rat’ssss arse about fighting me if I threatened that pitiful little Hotel that you’re sssso keen on guarding.”

Alastor

Alastor was already expecting an immediately hostile reaction. But the speed of it—and the fact that it's accompanied by a gun—is enough to make his ears flick up and eyes widen slightly in surprise.

But that's as close as he gets to a flinch. He delicately pushes the barrel of the gun down—it's still aimed at him, pointing at his chest, but now it isn't blocking his face while he tries to talk—and gives a long sigh. "But *I'm* not the one you've caused trouble for! It's that poor theater and all the hard-working thespians that depend upon it! Did you know we've been trying to get from rehearsals to previews for over a *year?* A *year!* The average length of rehearsals is a month and a half! They fought tooth and nail to get this far—and for what? To lose their theater, on the eave of rehearsals, for something that's got nothing to do with them? My goodness, I thought you were a man of culture and class! Have you no appreciation for the arts?"

He shakes his head in disappointment. "And all that, to *what end?* I'm *still* not going to fight you."

Sir Pentious

The grin fades from Pentious’s face as the gun is pushed down, as Alastor keeps on talking, his lips already twisting into a scowl as he moves to jab the end of the gun into the man’s chest, his hood starting to rattle louder with every passing second. “Doesss it look like I ever gave a damn about any of the placesss I’ve ever reduced to rubble? All the people’ssss lives I’ve buried in debris and crushed and burnt to ash without a second thought? Did I care about London or Jackssson or any of the American capital cities I’ve bombed and ssscorched to ruin? Why would a measssly theater bother me at all? And for that matter, the only *reasssson* I targeted them at all wasss because you got involved, because *you* refussse to see me as anything else than the dirt under your *heel!*”

The gun moves to jab itself right up into his chin, tilting his head back, clicking his jaws together from the force of the blow. “Fight me! I won’t let you ignore me like I’m sssome sort of *sniveling worm* anymore! I am *Sssir Pentiousss* dammit! And I am *ssssick* of being treated like I’m not worth anything when I had the whole of the *world* trembling at the sheer mention of my name!”

Alastor

"Oh, I don't expect *you* to care about the *building,* much less the *people!* But I'd like to think you might mind that you've removed a little *art* from the world!"

The gun shuts his jaw but Alastor refuses to let his head be tilted—and when he decides not to move, it's like trying to bend a statue. Finally. *There it is.* Alastor can't respond to any accusations that haven't actually been made yet, but now that it's out in the open?

He drags the gun down again to free up his jaw so he can speak, looks Sir Pentious in the eyes, and says calmly, evenly, "My good man. I have *never* said I see you as dirt, much less a worm. You've either invented that in your mind or else gotten it from some *other* version of me. On the contrary, I hold you in the highest esteem! And I don't want to fight you."

Sir Pentious

Pentious narrows his eyes even more, his grip on the gun tightens, trying even harder to push back against the grip Alastor has on it, to push it into his throat. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you *dare* think you can lie to me like that! I know how you are, Alassstor! I know what you said to me! How dare you try to ssssuggessst otherwise! You pretend I don’t exist! You pretend like I’m nothing! You keep on refusssing my calls to action because you think I’m *worthlesss* to you! Just another measly bug writhing around in the dirt that isssn’t worth your time! That isn’t *worth your interesssst!*”

Alastor

"The people—now, cut that out, do you want a conversation or not? I need my head to talk." He pushes the gun back down to chest level. "The people I consider worthless are the *only* ones I care to fight! Mere bugs to exterminate! Every time you demand me to fight you, Sir Pentious, you are telling me you want me to consider you a *bug* instead of a *man.* And I will *not* do that. I'm going to treat you like somebody I respect and esteem, whether you like it or not."

Sir Pentious

“..What are you playing at?” His eyes narrow, his scowl deepening even as his voice begins to sound more confused. “Is thisss some trick? Some *sssscheme* of yours?! You *never* treated me with any respect! Ever! All you’ve done is ignore me and belittle me as some *wassste of time* that you can’t bother to do anything but ignore! Don’t you *dare* sssay that you didn’t! What wasss it that you said? Ohh, yes. Your *interessst* in the Hotel is way lower than your *dissssinterest* in *ME!*”

He pulls the gun away, but just as quickly brings it back, swinging it like a hammer and causing the end of the barrel to crash right into Alastor’s temple. “No one down here in thisss *CESS POOL* of a Hell hasss respected me since the day I died! No one has ever given me the recognition I dessserve! The ressspect and fear! All they’ve ever done is *laugh* at me like I’m a joke! A relic! A by gone piece of *junk* to be overlooked and a *bore* to be *ignored* until it *goesss away!* But I’m not going to let them! I’m not going to let *you* do that to me!”

Alastor

The blow is quick enough to take Alastor by surprise; he stumbles sideways, grabbing the ship's control panel to keep himself upright. He has to shake his head to clear the stars. Probably should have seen that coming. Well, he's not going to take it on faith anymore that this Sir Pentious is going to have the bare minimum manners not to attack somebody who's never done a damn thing to him.

He straightens back up and shoots Sir Pentious a resentful look. "I said 'lower than my disinterest in *fighting* you.' 'FIGHTING you'! You have *no grounds* to say I've 'never treated you with respect.' We have spoken *twice.* Ever. Total. BOTH times of which involved you STARTING the conversation by *threatening my place of employment!*

"You have been *nothing* but hostile to me with neither cause nor provocation—and despite this, I have *still* shown you the courtesy of *not committing violence against your person and property.* Is that *not* respect?" He spreads his arms in a plaintive gesture, as if saying *help me out, here.* "I would have been *overjoyed* to offer you more than a swift brush-off—if you had ever indicated you'd like anything from me but violence, the one thing I *will not* give you."

Sir Pentious

“Tch! And how do I know this isn’t just *drivel*, hm?! How do I know you’re not just talking out your arssse about everything you just said right there?” His glare grows even harder, his eyes starting to visibly glow ever so slightly harder, the end of the gun now pointing steadily right at his head yet again. “How do I know you won’t just turn around and *laugh* about me to everyone you know the *sssecond* you get the damn chance?! I’ve met other Alassstors before, and they’d sssssooner kick me into the dirt before ever giving me *anything* clossssse to what *high esssteem* you claim to hold for me.”

Alastor

"Chk—I have more body than just a head, you know. I realize you've got multiple options when you're trying to make eye contact, but I've only got the one set!" He pushes the gun down to chest height again. "If you want to know whether I'm going to laugh at you, *perhaps* you could tune into my broadcasts and *hear for yourself* that I don't. You've already found the blog! Did I mock you after turning down your challenge to a fight?" Pointed look, brows raised; no, he did not.

"I can't account for *other Alastors.* I can't tell you why they don't hold any respect for a man who figured out how to make a *battleship* float in the *sky*, because quite frankly, I can't understand it! But I'm not *other Alastors,* I'm *this* Alastor. And I'm afraid you've got my respect whether you like it or not."

Sir Pentious

“..Tch.” The scowl on Pent’s face grows even deeper, his hood rattling even heavier now, and his claws tighten so hard on the grip of the gun that Alastor can tangibly hear the metal clicking and scraping against the sharpness of his claws. His voice is low, bitter, not filled with rage like before, more bitter and empty. “..Like I can believe a *single* word that comessss out of your mouth. Like you *sssaid*, we’re strangers. How on Earth could you possssibly hold any ressspect for me at all? *Hold me in high essssteem* at all? Well? Fesss up. Tell me then, how *the hell* can you care about me so much that you wouldn’t want to fight me when you don’t even know who I am?”

Alastor

He pauses a moment, assessing Sir Pentious's mood—still not happy, but he's not quite *outraged* anymore. Looks like Alastor's talking him down. He nods. "Well, fair enough, I said you can't compare me to my alternates so I can't compare you to yours. So what *do* I know about you? You're an engineer of both magnificent vehicles and fine weapons; you have the snappy sense of fashion I expected; you have excellent taste in interior decorating," here he glances around the bridge pointedly, "you've got the temerity to continue fighting to conquer Hell over a century after you died; and you've got the guts to challenge the most feared man in Hell to a fight, sight unseen, without even giving yourself the benefit of a surprise attack. I can confirm all that.

"But the rest, you'll have to confirm for yourself! So tell me: do you consider yourself a theatrical sort of fellow? Do you make *shows* out of your battles and examples of your enemies? Do you dismiss all naysayers and doubting thomases who question your competence? Have you ever gone into a mad whirlwind of a creative frenzy and emerged eight hours later with a weapon which that morning had never been conceived of? In your spare time, are you a musician whose chosen instrument is the most massive and complicated the human race has ever put together? Do you aspire to overthrow God not because you think you have the right to but just because you think you'd like to? Is your name still synonymous with 'evil' and 'senseless cruelty' in the history books of the world you've left behind? How much of this is ringing true so far?"

Sir Pentious

Pentious’s frame, slowly, little by little, seems to begin to relax. The gun begins to lower from it’s stance of being pointed directly at Alastor’s chest, his hood slowly begins to flatten, and his gaze, though full of bitter rage that seems to simmer and bubble just underneath those dark black pupils, it paints the picture of a man who no longer felt the same massive urge to squeeze their finger down on the trigger and reduce their opponent’s ribcage to a fine red paste splattered all over the floor. Finally, Pentious lets out a heavy sigh as he takes his finger off the gun entirely, letting it hang there in a single hand by his side, his hood now completely flat, turning himself right back around to look out over the view below “…Pretty much everything you’ve said so far, yes…..” He glances back toward Alastor at that, something a touch more knowing to his gaze. “I take it you *knew* your Pentiousssss then?”

Alastor

All right, they were doing well. His fixed grin relaxes into a more natural smile. "I've met *several!* You'd be surprised how often a Sir Pentious's first instinct is to try to attack the local Radio Demon and assume it's a personal insult when he doesn't want a fight."

Sir Pentious

“Hmm. Isss that right?” He raises a brow ever so slightly, looking back down toward the screaming that was filling the air, which has now also been pierced with the screeching sound of emergency sirens. “I suppossse it is a comfort that I’m not the first…” He still looks a bit troubled, a strange mix of bitter and resigned and almost…tired. “…What about yoursss? Did you meet him?”

Alastor

Alastor's stomach sinks. He'd hoped to keep the focus off Sir Pentious's local alternate. If he's not careful—and lucky—this *could* nosedive again. Flattery goes far with snakes, but only so far.

Well, nothing to do about it but cross his fingers and tread carefully. "Well, *sure,* I've met him. First one that I met, of course."

Sir Pentious

“Hmm. That ssso?” His tail idly flickers, but nothing else. “Did he attack you too? Or wasss he the one exception?” A slight trace of amusement in his voice, almost like he was trying to crack a joke.

Alastor

"Hah, no—he hadn't been prejudiced against me by any other Radio Demons. He wanted a—a pre-emptive non-aggression pact, I suppose you'd call it. He wanted assurance that the Radio Demon didn't have any reason to thwart his ambitions. And why would I? They don't interfere with anything *I* want to do!"

It's a little white lie that's going to come back to bite him as soon as this Pentious gets an opportunity to start digging into local history. But by the time that happens, Alastor can be better prepared—with the full story, or else with a better lie, or perhaps even with back-up from the Sir Pentiouses he knows currently who are willing to attest to his eagerness to assist and his reformed character. All he has to do right *now* is get through this conversation.

Sir Pentious

“Hmmm…That so…” His grin seems to drop back down, the amusement fading away, but it doesn’t sound angry. With his head turned away, it was hard to get a read of his emotions, though small little tells like the twitching of his hair or his tail made it clear that he wasn’t angry enough to become aggressive again. “And did you accept that? Or did you go and trash down his shipssss and his fleet anyway?”

Alastor

He's already to say that yes, he *did* accept it—but then that accusation, so *dead on*, hits hard enough to shake him out of his performance, and he croaks, "What?"

A split second too late he realizes that the comment might not be about *him*—maybe it's about this Pentious's local Alastor, or another one entirely—Alastors allying with Pentiouses and then betraying them is so common it might as well be a constant, he'd have a harder time thinking of an alternate who *didn't* share that history—but it's too late now to act like the question didn't catch him off guard.

All the same he quickly laughs, as if his surprise had been over the absurdity of the question, and says, "You mean take down his entire fleet for no reason? Why make an enemy I don't want, just for... what, a whim? Goodness, no. Of course I accepted it." And he hopes Sir Pentious is in one of his less observant moods.

Sir Pentious

Pentious doesn’t move for a moment, almost like he wasn’t going to react. Then, slowly, he turns back around, his expression looking more bitter now than ever before, almost like as the answer he was given was exactly the one he was expecting to hear. “…You did, didn’t you? Your voice cracked.” He lets out a slightly bitter scoff, and he moves to cross his arms, looking down to the floor. “Tch. Funny. Sssecond time in a row I’ve had that told to me. I get foolish enough to try and reach out, and one of you goessss and topples it all down. Typical…”

Alastor

Hell. *Hell.* He *might* have been able to talk his way out of it—*well, sure, two alternates might phrase things similarly, but what does that prove?*—if Alastor hadn't slipped up. *Damn. Dammit.*

"All right, *all right.* I *did* accept the pact. Yes. That's true. And then, *years* later, I broke it. For reasons of my own, having nothing to do with him—and it was the stupidest damn mistake I've ever made," he starts speaking faster, *God please don't let Sir Pentious have tuned him out yet* "and if I could undo one mistake in my past I'd choose that one over *my own death.* It's not a mistake I intend to repeat! I don't expect you to trust my words, but—what actions? What can I *do* to prove it to you?"

Sir Pentious

Pentious slowly picks his head up as Alastor’s voice begins to grow faster, begins to grow more panicked, lacking of any kind of mirth or amusement whatsoever, and he finds himself staring toward his face. He could see how his ears were starting to flatten, how his lips wobbled, his smile bending like it was about to teeter over and fall apart, and it was…shocking to see. It was enough to make whatever bitterness he had left slowly fade away, melt away in his chest like frigid ice, and he can’t help but stare, his hood flaring outwards ever so slightly, replaced with surprise, with confusion, and he can’t help but furrow just brow, feeling himself start to scowl again, ever so slightly. “…Ssso you just *betrayed* him? Just like that? For what *reason?* *Why?*”

Alastor

"... If anything, *cowardice.*" It's an answer he's used before, on another Sir Pentious who asked the same question. He uses it again because it worked then—and there's calculation in the answer, true, he knows it will flatter Sir Pentious for the great Radio Demon to call himself a coward in front of him—but also because it's an honest answer. He'd made the decision out of fear. The details, for now, are trivial.

Sir Pentious

“…*Cowardice..*” He spits the words like it tastes like acid on his tongue, like he didn’t buy it for a second, like it was only serving to brew the embers of anger he carried in his frame back into flames, and he feels his hood flare open as his claws clench into fists. “…What kind of answer is *cowardice?* That doesn’t sound like an answer. That sounds like an *excussse.*”

Alastor

Ah, well, what two alternates are perfectly alike. "Wh—? What the hell kind of an excuse does 'cowardice' make? An excuse is 'it's not my fault, something else force my hand.' It *is* my fault! What do you think it's an excuse *for?*"

Sir Pentious

“Who *knows* with you! Who knows with *ANY* of you! It’s ALL an excuse in the end, isn’t it?” His voice rises into a snarl of anger again, his hood flares wide with a menacing rattle, and his pupils visibly thin into slits. “How many more of you went and *ruined* everything for their versionsss of me, hm? *How many?* And for *what?* For cowardice or *bloody* dissssinterest or for whatever else you may try to come up with! All I know is that to me, they just sound like waysss to justify your actions! A way to ssssomehow deflect the blame until you can’t anymore! I bet you *did* have something there, didn’t you? A little white lie or sssome nonsense to try and pull the wool over your eyesss!” He moves to grip the shotgun again, pulling it back up into view, and his glare turns icy, cold, his hood rattling harshly. “Well, guesss what, Alastor? I’m not going to let you make excussses. You say you regret it? You sssay that you want to prove that what you mean isss sincere? *Then prove it.*”

He points the shotgun back toward him again, claws curled tightly over the metal. “Let me take the shot, *Alassstor.*”

Alastor

"I'm not trying to justify m— *What* about being *cowardly* is *justifiable!* This isn't deflection, I *am* taking responsibility! It's *my fault* and it's *not excusable.*"

But if Sir Pentious is wrong about Alastor's motives, he's right about the rest. *Too many* Alastors have destroyed Sir Pentious on a whim. And none had a single good reason for it. And every time he hears about another, the rage and the horror and the guilt and the *utter despair* over this endlessly repeated sin mounts higher. But Sir Pentious hasn't left Alastor with room to agree with him. Not when he somehow reads *taking responsibility* as *deflection.*

... And the shotgun's back. Alastor stares at it for only a split second, trying to guess the odds that it's loaded with angelic buckshot. (Probably not; Sir Pentious came looking for Alastor's acknowledgment, not his destruction. He'll take the chance.) "Fine." He takes off his monocle, poofs it away into nothing; he's had it since the thirties, he'd hate to have to try to replace it. Stands straight, hands clasped behind his back, an easy target. "Take the shot."

Sir Pentious

“Hmm…” Pentious, narrowing his eyes, almost as if he was trying to tell if this was somehow a trick, moves to aim the gun more properly, slowly angling it downwards. Not toward his chest or his head. Toward his stomach. There was a pause, the silence only broken by the sound of sirens and screaming down below, and then Pentious spoke, softly, a bitter mutter that’s barely audible to Alastor’s ears. “…For all I know, it seemssss as if every version of myself is doomed to end up ruined.”

The shotgun goes off.

Alastor

He wants to say *I wish it weren't like that*, he wants to say *I'd do anything in my power to change that*; but then he's got a load of lead in his stomach, followed quickly by pain spreading like fireworks through his gut, and it's hard to say much of anything. When the pain subsides enough for him to regain awareness of the rest of his body, he's sagging in the hold of his own shadow—the only thing that kept him from toppling completely. He decides not to look down. Even now, so long after his death, nothing hurts like a gunshot wound. He wonders if that's part of his punishment. Even though nothing touched it, his forehead blazes with pain.

He looks up to meet Sir Pentious's gaze again, struggles for a moment to speak, and finally gets out, "All right?" His voice is gravelly with distortion.

Sir Pentious

Pentious is gazing down at him, the shotgun’s barrel still visibly smoking from the blast of the shot, and his expression is…muddled. Torn between bitter resentment and shock, between dull, fleeting anger and the realization that Alastor was actually still standing there, bleeding, and with a large red stain where blood was leaking through his clothes at a rapid pace. His hood is flat, his lips are turned down in a soft frown, and after a moment, he moves to drop the gun, letting it fall to the floor with a loud, heavy *thud.* “…Well. I’m ssssurprised you can still talk without vomiting up any blood.”

Another slight pause, Pentious looking him over, up and down, quietly. Then, finally, he moves to turn his head away, his body soon following suit. “…If you want to avoid bleeding out, you better leave. I don’t feel much for parading your corpssse around like a trophy anymore.”

Alastor

"It's st..." He gestures up and down with his finger over his throat, pantomiming that it was working its way up.

His plan exactly. Any parting words he could think of? None that weren't too flippant for the situation. But, on a whim, he rummages in his pocket, pulls out one of the tickets he'd had saved for another caller—it's only a little bloodstained—and slaps it down on the airship's control console. Here. No hard feelings. Come to the show. Whenever it's happening.

Then a gap rips in the air, and Alastor and his shadow limp through.

Sir Pentious

Pentious hears the shifting and eerie shimmering of the portal’s magic as it slowly slides shut, as the air briefly wobbles in place before it properly seals itself back together, and it’s only then, when things go quiet, that he turns himself back around, just in time to see the ticket left behind, vaguely spattered with blood, but there all the same. He moves to carefully pick it up in a hand, holding it, staring at it.

A part of him wanted to simply tear it in two and toss it into the trash. Forget it. Simply throw it away, and forget about the words Alastor had said. The pain and panic in his voice, the way his wobbling smile had become so close to being undone.

So terrified of wronging him, even when he wasn’t the one who was wronged. It made something in his heart twist, made it ache, and it causes Pent some slight relief that Alastor had already left, as he begins to feel bitter tears start to well up in his eyes.

He places the ticket into the inner pocket of his coat.

[dark-ambition]

“Indeed, I do.” With that, he moves to gesture to the nearby egg minion that was quick to approach him with a leather case that it was holding over its head. Pentious moves to pick up the case, clicking open the metal latches so that the lid swings open, revealing a finely crafted rifle, decorated with red and pink symbols of hearts and moth wings, with a fine golden outline, and sturdy polished metal.

“Jusssst as you requesssted, a ssssniper for your own private collection. Assss for what I want? I would like sssome access to your drug production facilitiessss. Not all of them mind, jussst the one made for experimental tesssting. I believe that I may be able to usssse them to create a new form of…chemical weaponry that you and your asssssociates might find interesting.”

@mothvalentino continued from X.

“Issss that meant to be taken as screaming in pain or in pleasure?” Despite his words, he can’t help but smirk right back, his tail giving a brief flick as he moves to slither a touch closer to the other, arms crossed. “Or let me guessss…Both?”

[volley-ball-101]

I remember one of the only times I got in big trouble in school was 7th grade science class. Despite being the introvert I guess my teacher sat me with jusssst the right girls who triggered my "Im social now" nerve and I got away with a loooot. Well I think one day my teacher caught onto one of our shenanigans and I could tell my table annoyed her during class. I stopped but unfortunately my table mates couldn't take a hint. So as the bell rang I heard her request our table to come up to her desk for a little...."talk". I have never EVER gotten in trouble like this before. And I don't know how to explain it but something in my 12 year old brain just clicked and went "run"

And you bet your ass I high-tailed it out of there like my fucking dirt- free record depended on it (which it did) and so yeah I basically squeezed myself out the window

because fuck that crowded door I wasn't waiting for shit.

thank you for coming to my Ted talk

[seth-storm]

The Last Swap

Part 10: Roses are Red

(You thought it was dead, but NO! I will continue this even if I’m the only one who reads it and all of tumblr shuns me! MUAHAAHA—)

Logan watched Patton leave the shop. He acted odd, he decided, and he wasn’t really sure why. He was obviously wet and cold, but seemed to not want to accept help from anyone. Furthermore, when Logan had given him the cardigan he bought last night, Patton had a strange expression on his face. He looked actually rather happy, but Logan couldn’t figure out why. Unfortunately, he still had work to do. For all his stiff formality, Logan loved flowers. He thought of them as a language of their own, and knew that different cultures assigned meaning to specific types of flowers. He also knew that certain colors changed the way someone felt in a subconscious sense, and he used this knowledge when making bouquets. He also grew flowers in his window box that were a calming and productive blue color for this reason. Roman didn’t understand, thinking that making a bouquet for love was just throwing a bunch of roses into a bundle and handing them off. And while, yes, teaching was officially Logan’s job, the students liked Roman better anyway.

Guesssss you aren’t needed after all, Logan.

“That is a falsehood.” Logan retorted, blocking out the voices in his head. “I am needed. If I wasn’t here, who would run the shop? Roman can’t be in two places at once.”

Oh, he can hear me? Interessssting.

“I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.” Logan muttered to himself, organizing some flowers.

“I don’t know Lo, talking to yourself seems kind of crazy.” A deep tenor voice came from behind Logan, who whirled around to see a freckled man with curly brown hair bags under his eyes concealed by black eyeshadow. He wore a torn up shirt and a patchwork jacket. “Or are you talking to the flowers again? They’re never going to answer, man.”

“Virgil?” Logan frowned. “You look... different.”

“Well, yah, that’s what happens.” Virgil smirked. “Dude, I have a house this year. Can you believe that? I’m off the streets!”

Click.

“Oh my Aristotle, Patton lives on the streets! I’m an idiot!” Logan facepalmed. That’s why he came into work drenched, that’s why he seemed aggressive to everything and didn’t like accepting help.

“Actually, you’re quite smart. Just oblivious.” Virgil frowned. “Is Patton the dude who has my body?”

“Yes, indeed he is. Odd, huh? How every one of us here knows where our True Bodies are except him?” Logan frowned. “I wonder how that would feel.”

“I don’t know.” Virgil shrugged. “But he better pick soon.”

That sounded ominous. Logan looked at Virgil, trying to assess what he meant. Despite having known him for a while, until recently Virgil would come briefly and then leave, insisting his ‘superiors’ would get angry if they saw he was gone. Recently, however, Virgil seemed to be free of these superiors.

He issss not rid of ussss yet, Logan.

But Virgil still made absolutely no sense. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Ah, forget it.” Virgil said anxiously. “I’m sure everyone will find out soon enough.”

“If you say so, Virgil.” Logan modded, continuing to arrange the flowers in front of him.

“Roses, huh? Why roses and violets? That’s an odd combination.” Virgil looked over his shoulder.

Logan looked down, surprised. He let his thoughts wander to Patton and how he could help him smile more and now he was.. he was... being absolutely cliché! Roman would be proud, and that further disgusted Logan.

“Because... roses are red and violets are blue.” Logan said vaguely.

“Logan has feelings, who knew!” Virgil laughed.

Logan frowned at Virgil’s response. “Your meter and syllable count were off.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and punched Logan’s shoulder playfully. “I attempted it, so you liked it enough.”

Logan smiled, a small smile that ghosted across his lips. “I guess that’s true.”

~Bonus~

Issssn’t it funny how they all fit sssso perfectly? Jusssst like old friends, ssssave for ssssome needed development on Patton’ssss part. I bet when I announce there will only be one more sssswap they’ll all get it figured out rather quickly won’t they? Logan and Roman will sssswitch, Patton and Virgil will sssswitch, and it will all be perfect. Happy endings, ssssome character development, everyone winssss!

Everyone except me.

Don’t you think the villain deservessss to win, ssssometimessss? Don’t you think it’ssss only fair if I win in thissss sssstory? If the villainssss never win, if every sssstory issss happily ever after, then happily ever afterssss become ssssuperficial. Mark my wordssss, I will win. Ssssometimessss, evil triumphssss. And if it’ssss jusssst a sssstory, it makessss no difference to you if I win, doessss it? Reader, do you actually care what happenssss to them?

Or should I give you a true sssstory?

Taglist: @stop-it-anxiety @littlewolf432 @winterrs-child @ms-top-hat @idunnosong @scared-ghosthunter @anxiousvirgil13 @remusownsmyuwus @emmillie @nutmegandgingersnaps

[ebhenah]

Inevitable

Fictober18 Day 3

Prompt 3: “How can I trust you?”

Voltron fanfiction. Post season 07. Klance. Keith/Lance

Rated T for Language

“You get close, then you get scared, and then you BAIL, Keith,” Lance snapped, rounding on him, “it’s who you are. So, what am I supposed to think now?”

Keith’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. What was he even supposed to say to that? It was true. It was easier to leave than to be left behind. 

Lance shook his head. He stomped around the room. He pushed his hands through his hair so many times it was all sticking up at weird angles. It was like he’d been hooked up to some kind of power source and all that energy had nowhere to go. “This isn’t fair,” he snapped, “you know that, right? You’re timing is SHIT.”

“I know,” Keith managed to say. “I know it is.”

“How long?” Lance demanded.

“What?” he blinked, that was so not the question he was expecting.

“How. Long,” he repeated, anger flashing in his blue eyes. “How long have you been sitting on this?”

“Umm... how long for me, or how long for you? Because there’s a diffe-”

“Are you KIDDING ME?” he snarled, “just answer the goddamn question Keith- you were the one who started this conversation in the first place!”

“Fine... I guess... since Nyma and Rolo stole the Blue Lion,” he sighed, “that’s the first time it, like, clicked.”

Lance froze. He went from frenetic, agitated constant motion to stock still in less than a heartbeat. His eyes bored into Keith with such intensity he could FEEL the rage there impaling him, inch by inch. 

“But... it probably started before that... and I kind of tried to convince myself it wasn’t true for longer.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Oh my God Keith... Why did you try to convince yourself it wasn’t true?”

“Oh... I didn’t want it to be true. It hurt.”

“It hurt,” he repeated, shaking his head, “it hurt, he says. So, MONTHS before we even knew the Blades of Marmora existed, you knew?”

“Yeah,” he crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the floor. 

“Is that... Is that why you bailed on the team?” Lance hissed, “oh my God, it IS isn’t it? Rather than fucking talk to me, you abandoned all of us.”

“I didn’t abandon anyone,” he argued, “there were good reasons for me to go with the Blades... and Voltron had Shiro...”

“You say you loved me,” Lance breathed, “love me... and you left anyway. You just walked away. Like I was NOTHING.”

“No! It wasn’t like that,” Keith insisted.

“Wasn’t it?” Lance took a deep breath, “I don’t understand how you manage to KEEP doing this shit to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You really have your head stuck so far up your own ass you are blind to everything, don’t you?” He shook his head, “what was the point of telling me this? Now? What did you think was going to happen?”

“I...” he shrugged, “don’t know, really... I just... I couldn’t NOT say it any longer.”

“Did you think I’d be happy? Overjoyed? Flattered? What?”

“I have no idea what I thought... I didn’t think you’d be furious, though.”

“Well, that’s what you got. I’m furious,” he threw his arms wide. “My life is pretty good right now... but here comes Keith fucking Kogane... ready to blast everything apart AGAIN. I’m so sick of rebuilding my life around whether or not you are in it, Keith!”

“What does that even mean?” Keith was clearly confused, visibly perplexed.

“You...” he snarled, shaking his head, “just... YOU... you’re like some kind of Lance McClain-specific booby trap. You don’t even DO anything and you fuck my life up. I was a really happy kid. Did you know that? When I got to the Garrison, I was sickeningly happy. Good student, big, happy family, best score on that testing sim in my whole school. I was going to go the Garrison like my big sister. I was going to find a gorgeous girl to fall in love with, be a fighter pilot, have lots of friends, get married, have kids and explore the solar system... and then.. YOU.”

“How the hell did I stop any of that from happening?” Keith demanded.

“Because my happy, straight little ass took ONE goddamn look at you and your stupid mullet and fell head over heels in love with you, the hot shot who just. Kept. Beating. My. Scores. and never even knew I was alive, and that turned my whole life upside down.” He made a noise that was very close to a growl, “I spent my whole first year in crisis, trying to make sense of what I was feeling... and when I eventually came to terms with that, suddenly you were GONE, and I had to figure it all out again, so my whole second year was me scrambling and just... missing someone who literally had no idea I even existed. I got that under control and bam-look who is back in my life- no recollection of me, no clue who I am, and now I’m stuck in space fighting a goddamn war, and YOU are one of a literal HALF DOZEN people I interact with on a regular basis... and once again, my never-quite-good-enough ass is stuck in your fucking orbit and you STILL don’t see me! You look right through me. For months- I am nothing. I’m the dumb one. I’m the screw up. The dead weight. The seventh wheel... and then- somehow, you start to see me and I think, maybe... jusssst maybe... and then you are gone. Gone.” His hand scrubbed at his face and came away wet. Hot, angry tears streaked down his face, but they didn’t slow him down. This needed to be said. It had been eating away at him for too long to go unvoiced. “So, I adjust. Again. And you come back... and it just keeps fucking happening.... and I know. I KNOW it’s stupid and hopeless... and so I keep just... trying to change my focus. Concentrate on the job. Pursue anyone who catches my eye. Train. Hang out with the others. ANYTHING. Just... try to push the rubble that is my life into something that looks kind of like it might work. YEARS! Years I have been trying to figure out how to function around this massive, humiliating unrequited bullshit... and now you do THIS! So, yeah. Furious... because it could have been so different. It could have been AMAZING. But now- the one thing I know better than anything else in this entire universe is that Keith Kogane WILL destroy me, one way or another. So, here you are, saying exactly what I have literally dreamed of you saying, and all I can think is ‘how can I trust you?’ How can I trust you not to bail again? How can I trust you not to set off ANOTHER bomb in my life? And no matter how desperately I wish it was different, I know the answer is... I can’t. I know I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“Lance-” he looked stricken. Heartbroken. Ashamed.

“No! YOU did this! You don’t get to be all sad-puppy now. You LEFT.”

“I came back,” he said weakly. 

“To stop Lotor,” Lance almost laughed, it was just too sadistically perfect. This was exactly the kind of thing just being around Keith did to his life. “Not good enough.”

“No- I was gone two years,” he insisted, “and I promised myself I would tell you. I would make things right with you. I would put myself out there. The whole thing with Lotor... that’s totally separate... and it was important and time sensitive.”

“The game show. Stranded, floating in space. Days and days of travelling in the Lions. How many times were we staring down death and you STILL never spoke up? You said nothing. You don’t get a pass for that.”

“I was scared,” he said, his voice small. “I was terrified and I didn’t know how to get past that... and I am really sorry. For all of it.”

“Oh wow, Keith,” sarcasm dripped from his words, “thank-you for your magical apology. I feel heaps better now.”

“You’re in love with me?” it was barely more than a whisper.

Lance rolled his eyes, “not like it’s some kind of secret. It’s humiliatingly obvious, because I am a complete disaster and I just keep handing you knives to gut me with.”

“You’re focusing on the wrong things, Lance. You’re in love with me. I’m in love with you. We’re in love. That matters.”

“But it doesn’t, though... because I might be the dumb one, but even I know not to risk this. I can’t trust you.”

“You can,” he pleaded, “Lance... please... give me a chance to prove that you can trust me.”

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes shifted, meeting Keith’s and it was enough to give Keith hope.

“No more Blades. No more running. No more closing myself off,” Keith promised. “I don’t expect anything. Just... please... be my friend, let me show you that I am here to stay... and if I do. If I prove that. If you trust me... THEN we will talk about all this. I love you. I’m in love with you. That didn’t change in all the time I spent with the Blades. It didn’t change in two years of being away from you, stranded on a space whale. It isn’t going to change. I love you. I love you more than anything.” 

“God, I am such a fucking idiot,” Lance muttered, striding towards Keith, “and a goddamn masochist.” He clasped Keith’s face in his hands and pulled him down into a kiss. He’d probably regret this, but not as much as he’d regret NOT doing it.

[ninjacat1515]

Naga Moss is unable to go any further, and is starting to get frost bite on his fingers. His coils are stuck to the ground, and slithering is too painful. Barely conscious, he doesn't really notice the presence of a human nearby. His intended meal is making an incredibly cautious approach, and raises her hands, shutting her eyes and muttering something. It puts a strain on Eliza but she manages to construct a dome of energy around the Naga; filled with gradually warming air. She knows too drastic of a change could be dangerous. Moss comes to a few hours later. His fingers are a normal color, and his entire body down to the very tip of his tail, is warmed up; the injured flesh and scales healed. The girl from earlier sits outside a bizarre circle of energy; inside her own dome of sorts. What had done this?....was it her? Did she save him?... He scoots to the edge of the done. While she possibly had indeed rescued him, his hunger was fierce. But he couldn't leave the done. Hissing and tongue clicking, he grumpily watches her. "Are you going to jusssst ssssssit there all day? I have placessss to go, people to eat!" Eliza turns to look at him, snorting with laughter. "How about I bring you a frozen pig?" Moss makes a disgusted face, crossing his arms. "Well, it ain't gonna be me, or another human. So it's pig or.....nothing." The Naga fumed, tail whipping about. "You drive a hard bargain...." Slumping back down, Moss sullenly nodded. This day was rotten to the core....

[skepticalshuckle]

Cid:hi i-

Player:im playing idle

Cid:oh

*after khrysos was removed*

Cid:you only jusssst have to click once

Player:ffs

[apostleshop]

Daily Gospel Reflection for November 12, 2018

Great News has been shared on https://apostleshop.com/daily-gospel-reflection-for-november-12-2018/

Daily Gospel Reflection for November 12, 2018

Today’s Gospel: Luke 17:1-6

We’re never free from temptation. Jesus says as much, doesn’t he? “Things that cause sin will inevitably occur,” he tells the disciples in today’s Gospel.

And I can’t help it: My first reaction is “Great! Jusssst grrrreat. How do I stand a CHANCE, God? Huh?”

And then, in the very next moment, I remember this whole thing about free will and God wanting to be an intimate part of every. single. thing.

So here’s his chance. Except maybe it’s MY chance.

It’s my chance to take these sin opportunities — which Jesus himself says are inevitable — and turn them around, or rather, give them to God.

“Be on your guard!” Jesus advises. It doesn’t take much faith — a mustard seed is pretty small. God just needs something to start with…and, in fact, he gave me that when he made me.

That’s not all, though. We’re not to be a source of sin for others, either. And we’re to forgive and rebuke.

In other words, God gave us some pretty tall orders.

And clearly, if he’s setting these standards, he made us to keep them.

We just have to lean into him.

Tell you what: Let’s pray for each other. We can do this!

Jesus gives a tall order, but he also gives us the secrets to success. By @sarahreinhard Click To Tweet

Ponder:

Which of the directives that Jesus gives in today’s Gospel most speaks to you? How can you use that to direct your day?

Pray:

Jesus, you are here for me. I know you are. And yet…I can’t help but feel some helplessness in the face of the temptations that face me. Walk with me, guide me, and strengthen me.

Copyright 2018 Sarah Reinhard

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